


Macarons

by ArchangelUnmei



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Baking, Dysfunctional Relationships, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-06
Updated: 2013-01-06
Packaged: 2017-11-23 23:11:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,053
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/627544
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ArchangelUnmei/pseuds/ArchangelUnmei
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>France and England argue constantly. If there's any chance at all at settling something once and for all, Germany's going to take it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Macarons

**Author's Note:**

> For celtic-clay on Tumblr as part of the FACExchange. The prompt was _"LadyEngland/ManFrance. Prompt: The nations all decide to have a culinary exchange, but France/England use it as an opportunity to prove who is the better baker between them. They get a little carried away and end up sharing their creations somewhere hidden due to shame/embarrassment at the end. (Bonus points for every other country who manages to make a cameo/take part in the rivalry fuelled bake off.)"_
> 
> Hints of NedCan and GerIta if you decide to squint.

There are days when Elaine misses the times when Nations were openly at each other's throats. Things were fun then, meetings were exciting, and if she wanted to punch Francis in the jaw just for kicks, no one would call her on it. These days, everything is all about _diplomacy_ and _tact_ and she might consider herself a lady but there's still a small part of her that misses being a privateer. There are way too many formalities now. Way too many silly little rituals that they have to do just to be _polite_.

Case in point, the meeting refreshments. 

It used to be, if you were hungry you brought your own damn food. There was a memorable time where Prussia and Hungary hauled in an entire roast boar and refused to share, back when they had meetings in great halls by fire light. But then someone (Elaine suspects it was probably Austria) decided that was _rude_ , and that refreshments should be provided for everyone at the meetings. That was okay when it was just coffee and tea, and it was the meeting host who provided them. But then Italy had the bright idea to add snacks into the mix, and rotate who brought them. 

That causes so many more problems than it's worth, especially when it's America's turn to bring snacks, but that isn't even the problem Elaine is having with the system at the moment. No, her problem is Francis, standing there looking smug with a basket of croissants over his arm. 

Elaine huffs, brushing past him to set her Tupperware container of scones down on the table pointedly. She can practically feel Francis' raised eyebrows, so she answers his unspoken question tartly. "It's my turn to provide the snacks, frog." 

"Yes," Francis sounds bemused. "But I also brought some, so that the meeting could proceed without food poisoning." 

Elaine gives a hiss through clenched teeth, vaguely aware that nearby Nations have stopped their conversations to watch the unfolding spectacle. She rounds on Francis, fists clenched and ready to sock him right in the stupid smirk. "My scones are just fine!" 

"If this was a meeting for your brothers and their sheep, perhaps," Francis concedes smoothly. "But really, Elaine, be reasonable." 

Elaine's fist hits him square in the nose. 

It takes Germany, Netherlands and Sweden together to separate them, still hissing and snarling at each other. Elaine's hair is a mess and Francis looks decidedly more rumpled than usual. America rolls his eyes from where he's sitting off to the side, a half-eaten croissant in one hand and a scone in the other. "Guys, seriously?" 

"It _is_ France and England," Netherlands says, still holding Elaine back from trying to pummel her neighbor. "I really wouldn't be surprised if they instigate a war over whose baking is better." 

Germany groans. "We don't need another war over _anything_. France, England, you need to settle this." 

"Settle _what_?" Francis sniffs, tossing his hair out of his eyes. "My baking is clearly superior to anything the rosbif can scrape out from the bottom of her oven." 

Elaine shrieks at him, nearly elbowing Netherlands in the throat as she tries to struggle away from him to attack Francis again. Netherlands grunts but manages to keep his hold on her. "Look, there's an easy way to do this." 

"Oh?" Germany looks over at him, clearly interested in anything that will cut down on conflict enough to allow meetings to actually progress. 

Netherlands smirks, just a little. "A contest." 

In the end, of course, it's never that easy. Italy wants to bake too, and Belgium feels the need to defend her own baking prowess, and from there it just expands until half the world is gathering in Germany's kitchen. Germany looks like he's going to have an anxiety attack over the messes being made, but his place has the largest kitchen and the closest thing to neutral ground they could acquire. Italy is singing as he rolls out dough for pretzels, Canada and Netherlands are mixing up the filling for maple tarts, Belgium's melting the chocolate to go on top of her waffles, China is swearing in Mandarin in between trying to teach Hong Kong and Taiwan how to make proper dumplings, and Prussia is hovering in hope of free food. 

Elaine tries her best, she really does, but it turns out there's obviously something wrong with Germany's oven because her scones come out overdone. She looks at them rather sadly, biting her lip. She'd even made cranberry-lemon ones, which she knows for a fact Francis likes, but there's no way she can give these to him. Hurriedly she stuffs them into a spare container and slips out of the kitchen, intending to throw them away and start a new batch. 

Just as she reaches the back door, she hears someone call her name. She squares her shoulders and refuses to turn around, quickening her steps once she's outside. Francis catches up to her, though, putting a hand on her shoulder and trying to turn her around. "Elaine! Where are you going?" 

"Nowhere!" she tries to hide the container of scones under her arm, aware that she's probably blushing furiously. "Don't you have people to be impressing?" 

"Yes, she's right here." 

Elaine's so stunned that Francis manages to steer her over to a bench Germany has set out in his garden. She finds a plate with a freshly baked macaron on it under her nose, and involuntarily inhales. Green tea and citrus, her favourite. She knows she's still blushing, but reaches up to take the plate from Francis. "Thank you." 

"Are these for me?" Before Elaine can do more than squawk, Francis has deftly grabbed the container of scones and fished one out. He regards it thoughtfully for a moment, then takes a bite. Elaine ducks her head in mortification, waiting for the insults, but they don't come. Instead, she feels Francis' lips brush the top of her head. "Thank you, it's not bad. It would be even better if there was some jam to go with them." 

Elaine smiles, but can't raise her head because she's still far too red. Instead, she sets the plate on her lap and picks up the macaron to nibble it happily. 

Her other hand finds Francis' and gives it a squeeze.


End file.
